Death & Jam

20 May

Of course, jam can be a happy food.  Homemade organic raspberry on thick whole wheat with the butter of your choice – soy, almond, peanut, or just plain salted butter.  Or just plain.

When my best friend miscarried I could see her sinking.  The loss of that pregnancy, the loss of possibility, of what might have been is so painful.  I put together a care package and one of the items was a jar of jam.  I confess I don’t recall which kind.  Maybe black plum, maybe triple berry.  All I knew was that, like measuring out our days in coffee spoons, by the time she finished that jam, days or weeks would have passed and that initial terrible slashing pain would have faded just a little.

My husband’s grandma died yesterday.  She escaped Germany in 1939.  She hated cold yogurt and used to warm hers in a dish of hot water.  She reused tinfoil and tea bags until they disintegrated.  She loved jam.  We’ll start a new jar tonight and see where we are when it’s all gone.

Nana, I raise my jar of blueberry preserves to you.  I promise it is room-temperature!

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